flightless angels
by snowball247
Summary: Bilbo tries to comfort a hurt Thorin who discovers that even though Erebor has been reclaimed and the Arkenstone is in his possession again, he'd give up both just to see his beloved nephews alive once more.
1. Chapter I

**A/N: **Once again, I'd just like to say how much I love you guys. Thank you for wasting your time by reading this fanfic. I love you. I love you. I love you. And have I mentioned that I _LOVE_ you?

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own anything. Nor am I in contact with PJ or the 'The Hobbit' cast. Boo hoo!

**SUMMARY: **Bilbo tries to comfort a hurt Thorin who discovers that even though Erebor has been reclaimed and the Arkenstone is in his possession again, he'd give up both in a heartbeat just to see his beloved nephews alive again.

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**CHAPTER 1:**

Bilbo missed the Shire.

He missed the fields, the rivers, and the plains. He missed the way the children would laugh and sing in the afternoons and the pleasantries he would exchange with their mothers and fathers whenever the harvests were particularly good. But, most of all, he yearned for his comfy hobbit-hole in Bag End. All he wanted to do right now was to go to sleep and wake up in his familiar four-poster, pale sunlight filtering gently through his open windows. He longed for his study and all of the old books and maps he'd stored there when he was younger, the recalled smell of yellowed pages and black making his nose tingle.

But, right now, he just...couldn't.

Not when the Dwarves of Erebor were still grieving for their lost kin. Not when said lost kin had come to mean something to him as well.

He sighed for the nth time as he prepared to turn in for the night, eyes swollen and red at having cried over so much Fili and Kili's lifeless bodies. The complete opposite of what the two had been before they'd died.

_Died_.

The word cut through Bilbo's chest like a dagger, making him wince out loud. It was hard for the hobbit to think of the young princes as, well, inanimate and grim. It was so out of character for them. And, yet, here he was, fresh from their funeral and trying to push all of the memories he had of them out of his mind. It was just too painful to think of them yet. Almost as painful as the time he'd taken a dagger in the shoulder for Fili.

_Fili_.

There it was again. A memory.

Bilbo bit his lip and shook his head, trying to clear it to no success. A dry and humorless laugh escaped from his lips: He was doing the exact opposite of what he'd told the others, which was "It's no use to succumb to grief." But, he couldn't help it. The mere thought of Fili and Kili buried underneath the ground, their eyes never to open again and see daylight, was almost too harsh to believe.

He rubbed a callused hand over his tired eyes. A yawn escaped from his lips.

"This is just the fatigue rubbing off on me," he muttered to himself. With a nod that somehow signaled finality, he hopped into bed and burrowed deep into the covers, trying to get as comfortable as possible. Five minutes passed, and Bilbo was slowly but surely nodding off. His eyes were fluttering shut on their own accord now and he was doing nothing to stop them from doing so.

"_This is peace_," he thought sleepily.

_CRASH!_

Bilbo jumped up, ignoring the sudden head rush that came with it. His fingers automatically flew to his waist, searching for Sting's familiar hilt. But, of course, it wasn't there. The sword was currently propped up on the wall beside him, scabbard gleaming in the moonlight. Bilbo dived for it when the second crash came. He slid the belt on in one fluid motion and drew the sword, prepared to engage anything and anyone in battle.

Only the Valar knew how much he would take anything just to distract himself from the grief-induced state he was slowly slipping into.

But, when the door didn't bang open and nothing else happened, his stance relaxed.

Had it only been a figment of his imagination? An aftershock from the Battle, perhaps?

Bilbo's brow furrowed. He was so sure of it. He sat at the foot of his bed, turning Sting over and over in his hands. He waited for the blade to glow. To give him a sign that Orcs or Goblins were here in Erebor. But, not once did it even give off a faint blue shimmer. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, he stood up and, for the second time that night, rubbed his eyes.

"I'm getting twitchy from this mess I've gotten myself into," he mumbled.

He sheathed Sting, but didn't remove the belt. Somehow, he felt much more safe with it strapped around his waist. And it wasn't just because the belt had come from Thorin.

At the mere mention of Thorin's name, Bilbo's cheeks flushed.

For the past two months, Bilbo had been harboring feelings for the Dwarf King, and it wasn't just simple friendship or, heavens above, a schoolboy crush. No, Bilbo had flat-out fallen in love with the newest King-Under-The-Mountain. Almost everybody in the Company was oblivious to it, save for a certain black-haired Dwarf who just so happened to be said King's nephew.

_Kili_.

Bilbo winced once more. It was almost impossible nowadays to think of anything that wasn't connected to the two boys he'd come to treat as his foster nephews.

_BANG!_

At the sound, Bilbo snapped out of his reverie. He stood up and drew Sting, finding comfort in the fact that he was at least armed, lest anything happen.

_SMASH! CRASH! _

The noises were happening one after another now. In the eerie silence, they almost sounded like canons letting their load loose, each shot much more noiser than the last. After much debating, Bilbo grabbed his robe and pulled the fabric around himself. It was no use just sitting here in his room while something happened outside.

No.

Bilbo Baggins wasn't just going to watch everything from the sidelines.

He was going to investigate, even though that sounded like the stupidest idea on the planet at the moment.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N: **This is the part where I say how much I love you guys. And that, as far as Martin Freeman's adorableness is concerned, is true.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own 'The Hobbit'. As simple as that.

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**CHAPTER 2:**

The floor was cold underneath Bilbo's feet, but he didn't mind that much. After spending at least a week in Erebor, he was used to it by now. He knew that, thanks to Smaug, there were lots of holes and cave-ins that needed to be repaired, giving the drafty February wind a lot of space to pass through. And, even though his feet were alright, his body was screaming otherwise.

To compensate for it, he wrapped the thick wool robe around himself tighter, burying his hands in the pockets. Periodically, he checked his waist to see if Sting was glowing; it wasn't. The crashes were steadily getting louder, as if whoever was making the racket was getting angrier and angrier by the minute. From what Bilbo's general sense of direction indicated, the sounds seemed to be coming from down the corridor, so he hastened his pace and continued to march towards the source.

Finally, after much walking and running, he reached the end of the long hall.

He stiffened when he realized where the sounds were coming from: Thorin's room.

From what he'd inferred, it was strictly off-limits to anybody that Thorin didn't deem important. A pang of jealousy reverberated inside Bilbo's chest when he remembered that one of the Men from Dale had succeeded in gaining access to Thorin's room a few days ago (He wanted to give Thorin Bard's condolences).

"You're being stupid," he told himself.

As if in answer, another object smashed from the inside.

Now, Bilbo wasn't stupid or daft or anything like that. Truth be told, he was one of the smartest (If not _the_ smartest) hobbits in the Shire. So, it wasn't a surprise for him when his mind quickly put two and two together: _Thorin_ was the one making the ungodly racket.

"Why on Earth would he make such a commotion?" he wondered to himself. For a minute, Bilbo just stood outside the door, unsure as to whether or not he should open the door. On one hand, it was very probable that Thorin had just been looking for something. He knew just how easily Thorin was angered whenever things didn't go his way.

"Yeah, that's probably it," he said.

Still, his hand didn't release the door knob. It was as if an inexplicable force was making him stay near it, a magnet of sorts. He flinched reflexively as another object, probably a small vase or figurine, crashed to the floor. He pressed his ear to the door. Aside from the echo of the shattering object, it was almost eerily silent inside the large room. He bit his lip, as he so often did whenever he was debating on doing something or not.

Should he or shouldn't he?

Another _smash!_ from the inside made Bilbo make up his mind in an instant.

'Should' it is.

He inhaled deeply to steel himself and, with exaggerated slowness, twisted the knob. Even though he had an idea of what might lay inside, his breath still caught as he caught his first full view of the room:

Pottery and glass were strewn on the carpeted floor, bits of it gleaming in the firelight, making it seem as if the midnight blue carpet had suddenly transformed into a sky and the twinkling shrapnel, stars. The bed was messy and unmade, the sheets hanging off the edges. It didn't even look like it had been slept in. Large pieces of broken chair and desk littered the far corner of the wood.

After he finished assessing the state of the room, his eyes landed on the occupier.

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was currently sitting in front of the fireplace, his back to the hobbit, sapphire eyes transfixed on a certain point in front of him. He didn't even seem to sense that Bilbo was there, watching him with caution, lest said Dwarf throw _something_ at him.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said softly.

The Dwarf King's head whipped around. For the first time, Bilbo saw just how horrible Thorin looked: His eyes were much more swollen than Bilbo's, red rimming the edges. His normally-braided hair lay in shambles around his handsome face. His beard looked like it hadn't been combed in days. Tear tracks shone on his cheeks. He had little nicks and cuts on his fingers, all of them bleeding slightly. He appeared to be holding a piece of paper, which on closer inspection, had Fili and Kili's faces etched on them, their grins ever-so-cheeky and effervescent.

Bilbo's fingers unconsciously flew to his mouth when he realized why Thorin had been throwing things around.

"Oh, Thorin," he said in the same soft tone.

"I'm fine," the other spat out harshly.

"No. No, you're not."

And it was true. Even from his safe distance from the Dwarf, Bilbo could see that Thorin's eyes were bloodshot, that his lips were chapped and cracked, that he seemed considerably thinner than the month had began.

"I'm-"

Thorin began, but thought better of it, and steered the conversation in a different direction.

"What do you want?"

Bilbo flinched at his harsh tone, but put on a brave face, and stood up a little straighter.

"I-I-I came to see why you were being so noisy. I couldn't sleep, you see, and I wanted to see if I could help. I-"

He stopped when Thorin started to march towards him, fury evident in his eyes. Bilbo couldn't help it. He squeaked like a mouse and stiffened. He was so scared as to what Thorin would do to him. When the Dwarf King finally reached him, he took Bilbo roughly by the shoulders and shook him, making Bilbo feel queasy.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? NONE OF YOU CAN HELP ME! NONE OF YOU!" he roared, giving him another shake.

Bilbo's head was starting to spin; he saw stars.

When Thorin stopped shaking and screaming profanities at him, he was seeing double.

The bed, the fireplace, the mantle.

Everything.

Bilbo looked into Thorin's eyes. Once again, he couldn't help but marvel over how blue they were. Fury and anger burned there, but Bilbo saw that there was grief, as well. He was obviously taking his nephews' deaths much more seriously than the others, and he'd been too proud to ask for help. He noticed that the piece of paper Thorin had been poring over was now lying on the ground, front-side up.

When Bilbo spoke afer a few tense minutes, his voice was surprisngly calm.

"Are you done?" he asked. Thorin seemed to return to himself after that. He realized that he was holding Bilbo and let go almost immediately. The hobbit winced as the blood rushed back into his veins, making him feel as if he were being pricked with little needles all over. But, he ignored it. The matter at hand was much more important than whatever pain he was feeling.

"I-I...Yes, I'm done. And I'm sorry," Thorin muttered, somewhat ashamed. His cheekbones were spotted with color, and Bilbo suspected that he had been drinking. "I'm sorry, too," Bilbo said. Thorin's eyes stared intensely into his as he asked his next question.

"For what?"

"For doing, well, you know what exactly I'm talking about. I did it to keep all of you safe, you know. Not because I wanted it for self-gain, like you oh-so-carelessly implied," Bilbo said in a cold tone.

Grieving or not, Bilbo still had a score to settle with Thorin's harsh tongue. At that, Thorin's flushed cheeks turned, if possible, redder.

"I understand."

Bilbo nodded and bobbed his head at the debris cluttering Thorin's floor.

"What's all of this for?" he inquired. "Is this your way of dealing with their you-know-whats?"

His voice was soft and caring. All he wanted at that minute was to reach out and brush the tear tracks off Thorin's face. To hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. But, as the both of them knew perfectly well, it wouldn't. Not for a very long while.

To his surprise, Thorin suddenly fell to his knees, and began to sob. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving up and down. He sounded so sad and pitiful that Bilbo reflexively dropped to his knees as well and wrapped Thorin in a hug. It was rather hard, considering the fact that Thorin was much more larger than he, but he managed.

"Hey, it's...it's..."

For once, the hobbit was at a loss for words.

"No, it's not," Thorin mumbled into his shoulder.

They sat there for a long while, the open door casting chilly breezes onto Bilbo's back, making him shiver. When Thorin had finally cried his fill, he pulled back and bit his lip, looking embarassed but slightly better.

Without another word, Bilbo stood up, shut the door, and offered Thorin his hand. The Dwarf King took and, with much effort, hoisted himself up. The hobbit led him over to his bed, tidied it up a little, and made him climb into it, tucking Thorin in like he did with his younger cousin, Primula Brandybuck, back home.

When he'd finished, he set to tidying the room, picking up all of the pieces of glass shards and pottery bits. When he finished that, too, he threw all of them out of the window and added another log to the fire. He picked up Fili and Kili's portrait, set it on top of the mantlepiece, and dusted his clothes off. While he was doing this, Thorin only watched with numb eyes, face devoid of all feeling and emotion. It was like he had cried his entire being out when Bilbo had pulled him into a hug.

Bilbo walked over to where Thorin lay and, without thinking, smoothed his hair back.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. Thorin merely shook his head and closed his eyes. He was tired, and so was Bilbo. With a sigh, he set off for his room, completely drained.

"Wait."

Bilbo was tired he didn't hear Thorin's quiet voice, cracked and hoarse as it was. He only stopped walking when Thorin's hand shot out from under the covers, wrapping itself firmly around his pale wrist.

"Stay with me. Please."

The hobbit looked back and nodded.

"Of course."

He made to pull a chair up beside Thorin, but the King-Under-The-Mountain shook his head. "Sleep beside me. Please." If it weren't for the fact that he was completely and totally knackered, Bilbo would've been surprised to hear Thorin say 'Please' two times on the same night.

"Sure, sure," he mumbled, face flushing all the same.

He slid his sword belt off, crawled into the covers beside Thorin, and turned his back on the Dwarf, not wanting to cause further awkwardness between them. He bit his lip when he felt a warm arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer.

_He's just upset. He's just upset. He's just-_

"Thank you. For this."

"You're welcome."

It wasn't until much later that Bilbo finally twisted around to face Thorin, his breath hitching as he found out just how close they were. His nose bumped against the Dwarf King's, making Thorin mumble in his sleep. As if in response to something he had been dreaming about, he grunted and pulled Bilbo closer. His lips touched Bilbo's forehead; Bilbo's breath stopped. Several times in the night, the same thing happened over and over again, Bilbo's cheeks flushing redder and redder at every occurence.

In the morning when he woke up, Thorin was fast asleep, arm still wrapped firmly around Bilbo's waist. With a sigh, Bilbo got up and slipped out of Thorin's grasp. He wasn't a Burglar just for the name itself, after all. He tiptoed across the room towards the door.

He stopped when he realized that this-everything that had transpired since last night-would just stay here in the room. Thorin could never love him. He was straighter than a measuring stick. Bilbo's eyes flitted between the door and Thorin himself. While he was sleeping, Thorin's face looked so much younger than it was. The lines of worry and pain had all been erased, and he didn't seem so old.

Bilbo bit his lip.

In another second, he made up his mind, and crossed the room again.

He leaned over Thorin's sleeping form, brushed a stray piece of hair away from his face, and bent down to kiss Thorin's forehead gently.

After all, everything that had happened here would stay in the room.

Nobody would have to know.


End file.
